


Taping my way

by orphan_account



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hope it isn't too angsty, Hope the oc isn't irritating, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Rather proud of this one, Tell us what you think, Tried angst, We are sorry we're updating this one and not the other, You guys can find it in fanfiction.net, man, this is a oneshot, this is exhausting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She's gone, she's fine ash and grey smoke, and I will never hear her, never see her again, but when I find those tapes, I'm stunned. I can hear her again. I can listen to her voice again. My daughter's voice will live again.We take a look at a father's sorrow, at losing his child to war and battle. We take a look at Alec Lightwood's horror at his child's death.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood
Kudos: 9





	Taping my way

Tapes.

That's what she's left me and her father. That's what she left us, her family.

She always loved that stereo, after all.

"Alec?" Even Magnus's voice sounds exhausted. He's tired of seeing me in her room. He told me so, two days back.

I spent the first few days after her funeral in a sort of daze, and then filled with the thought that I had to clean her room. I had washed all her clothes, shook of some of her hair in the ties she used to pull back her hair, ironed her clothes when I realised something with an intensity as if a truck had hit my chest- _It didn't matter_.

It didn't matter whether the clothes were washed and ironed, whether her hair ties were free of her hair. It didn't matter how clean her room was.

Magnus had been terrified of my awful, howling screams when I realised my daughter was never coming back, never talking to me again.

"Alec?" He sounds afraid now. Earlier, he would've touched my shoulder and asked me what the matter was. Not now. He's scared of how I'll react. The last time he did, I was a shaking, sobbing mess on our floor, asking him how it was fair that he- he who was nearly four hundred years old, could be alive, and our daughter- not even eighteen yet- could've died.

He had no answer. He joined me on the floor, then.

"Look at this." Even my voice sounds wrong. Too blank, too unfeeling. He hears it too. He flinches. Magnus, who never showed any emotion freely. Not now. Ettie changed that as well.

"Tapes?" "She-she loved the stereo." "It could be songs-" "They're not." I snap. I turn the plastic wrapped package, to show him the paper stuck to the back. Her spiky handwriting, sloping to the left as if on a collision course. "Untuk Bapak dan Dada. And others, of course." "It's for us." I said harshly, more harshly than I meant to be. Again the hurt look on Magnus's face.

"Do you... want to play it?" Magnus says softly. "Mm. I just- I just don't think I can do it alone, Magnus." "Alec," Magnus sounds tired. "When have I left you to do anything you don't want by yourself?"

I have nothing to say for that.

We're clustered around the table, my hands twitching irritably on it. Magnus sits to one side, slowly stroking Rafe's hair. He has a wan, unhealthy look about him. He's absolutely refused to eat ever since...the funeral.

Max tries to get my attention by waving his blue fists at my face. "Maxwell." My voice is too sharp. "You're eight years old. You're not a baby anymore. You don't need me to feed you." Max stares at me for a split second, and then bursts into tears. My chest briefly burns up.

Magnus's face tightens, and then he lifts up Max, gently depositing Rafe to one side. He soothes Max, doing what I'm unable to bring myself to do. I know he wants to reprimand me, and I know I deserve it, but I can't focus on anything. On anything but the plastic wrapped tapes.

"Play it," I say instead. Magnus sighs deeply, rubbing his hands across his eyes, as he puts Max down as well. My sons glare at me .

He leans over, taking the old painted stereo with trembling fingers. He misses her, and her touch is everywhere. His hand brushes mine, and I can feel my skin recoil. He hasn't touched me-no, I haven't let him touch me, not even kiss me. Not after my child has become nothing more than smoke and ashes.

The rough static fills the room. I tense up, waiting for her voice greedily. Her voice fills the room, smooth and arrogant, with the faint German accent she never lost over the years.

I realise with abject horror that I've forgotten, forgotten what my princess sounded like. Two months, and I've forgotten.

I take a shaky breath, and turn towards Magnus. There's nothing on his face except heartbreaking eagerness, mirrored on both Rafe's and Max's faces.

"Whoever's listening, I want everyone I know here. I've covered everyone I know in these tapes, I think, and, and...I'm sorry. Damn. That sounds so wrong, yes? Everyone. D-dad, you-you'll call everyone, won't you? Tía Maia, tío Bat. Jem, Tessa- God, you get the general idea, don't you?"

I nod, as if she's just before me, as if she's perched on the edge of the table, Magnus telling her off for sitting at 'the magnificent symbolism of my personality', sleeves pushed up her arms, cigarette flavored smoke, legs hitting the legs of the table, trailing a path of mud.

Magnus always said that Andriette would top herself off from all that smoking. That she'd get lung cancer if she went this way. Well, she didn't, did she? She topped herself off way before.

"I'll call the others." Magnus sounds as if he'd collapse any second. "I-I, both of us. We'll call everyone. Yes."

Magnus looks at me, stunned. "Alec? You feeling up to it?" "It's for her." I say, a final note in my voice. "I'm up to anything for her."

Bat and Maia come first, Maia dissolving into fresh tears as she sees the stereo. Magnus clearly told her. She picks up Rafe absentmindedly, Bat holding Max. Her eyes are puffy, red.

"Al-Alec. Alec, I'm so sorry. I'm so-"she shakes her head, looking at me. They settle down, Maia still sniffling. I feel my chest burn. She was my daughter. Not Maia's. Maia had no business acting so affected. I feel Magnus's hand on my shoulder. "I know you're upset. But keep it together, yeah? After they're gone, we'll- we'll- we don't have to pretend."

My eyes blur as I see them slowly trooping in, Jem and Tessa, Mina's tiny arms wrapped around Kit, whose face is pale and drawn. Ettie was only a few years younger to him. Ty Blackthorn is flushed an odd red, his eyes roving over the stereo. Lily, proud and defiant, her eyes softening as she looks at me. Many of them, each one we had called. And finally, Simon and Isabelle, Jace and Clary.

Jace, his hair sticking up, lips pressed so hard it looks liable to fall off, coming next to me, a comfort in presence alone. Clary, stricken, clutching a small blue bundle- their daughter was born two hours after they got Ettie's news.

Clary had been only seven months along with their first child- conceived after nearly three years, when Jace had been given the news. She'd started sobbing and then fainted, and gone immediately into labor. They'd named their baby girl after her- Andriette Jocelyn Herondale.

Izzy, coming over and hugging me tightly, shivering. I don't know what to do. Simon, hand tight on Magnus's shoulder.

And lastly, two women shuffling in, Helen and Aline Penhallow. Their eyes quickly falling on their son Ricky, blank faced, dirty haired, who'd refused to leave her body. Till it was burnt. He'd stayed with us, for nearly two weeks- and then packed off, to the Institute. He watches listlessly out of the window.

When they're all finally in, Magnus says, "We've called you all because- because we found these. These- tapes. We played the first one and it says- it says she needs all of you to hear it. That she's addressed everyone in these." He doesn't manage more than that. He leans over and hits the play button.

* * *

"So," Nervous laughter. Odd. She was never nervous. Scared, sure. Not nervousness. Never nervousness.

"So you guys decided to stick around, huh? Right. Back to why, of course. God, I'm messing this up, am I not?" Again the laughter. Izzy shudders visibly. Ricky Penhallow's eyes narrow.

"Alright. When I got to know that I was going to fight- yep, going to kill demons, killing them, yadda,yadda, I've always been sort of sure that I was going to top myself off in some spectacular way. Like, you know, in a shower of blood and glory and honour and seraph blades. So, I was like, what do I do if I die?" Here, I see from the corner of my eyes that Magnus laces his fingers together, face perfectly blank.

"I wanted to- nope, I want to- live an imprint of myself. Because if you're hearing this, I'm probably dead. Because- well, if I was living, I'd probably destroy this thing. And I think you can all understand why. It's a pretty morbid thing to have around your room, you know, taunting you with its presence, like, y'know girlie, I'm here if you want to top yourself!" She laughs, not the nervous, tinkling one, but her real one, half air, half sound.

"So I'll get on with things. First off, Tía Maia, tío Bat. Espero que todos estén bien. And oh, how's little Robbie? ¿Te va bien?" Maia's face is streaked with tears, Bat tightening his grip on Maia's hand. "I've done this, because I want to make sure...there are stories you all should know, the ones I don't want to forget."

"I, alright this is embarrassing. I think all of you know of my great escapade from home to the Hunter's Moon, yeah?"

I do, very clearly. The arguments in the living room, Andriette screaming at Magnus and me, spittle flying from her lips, about, about everything, actually. From whom she saw, what she did, _You can't tell me what to do, I'm old enough to understand what's good and not for me, you don't get to decide for me_ , me shouting right back that she was just a child, she was _fifteen_ , for the Angel's sake, she wasn't old _enough_ , mature enough to go around with _that_ boy, the one who came around with that horrible motorcycle of his, the wayward son of the Penhallows, the one she called _Rick_.

She was absolutely furious with us, refusing outright to stay. She'd packed off, all of fifteen years, full of teenage angst and rebellion.

"- and I was like, I'm going to go and prove that I'm old enough by drinking. God, I can't even understand what I was thinking." With a start, I realise that in my reverie, I'd missed what she'd said first. Judging by the wry fond smiles on everyone's faces, it was something funny.

"So off I went, stomping to the Hunter's Moon, and taking a leaf out of the illustrious life of my Uncle Jace-" she laughs, again, Jace's lips pressed together to hide a smile, "-I went ahead and started a fight. But since I'm not the greatest Shadowhunter of my generation, and also I do not possess any amount of blood belonging to extraterrestrial beings, I ended up with a grand total of a shattered cheekbone, a split lip, a purple eye and two fractures in my left arm. Tía Maia to the rescue. She sort of rescued me from the wrath of the terrifyingly hairy werewolves, gave me a very sound talk on why exactly I was an idiot, and to go home, and also tell Dad that he was a mega idiot for not calling her, which I duly conveyed after returning home after a period of five days, during which I stewed in dark rebellion and treacherous thoughts to run back to where I came from, Die große Mutter Deutschland. Deutschland über alles. So for lecturing me on mine, and my father's idiocy, I thank you , Tía Maia, for your profound wisdom and the impact you had on my , uh, lawless ways, as Papa strategically puts it , whenever we refer to my deviances." Maia looks stunned, torn between whether she had to laugh or to cry. "And oh, Uncle Bat, for keeping Aunt Maia on the ground before she can go flying to the sky, so carried away by her ideas. And also, being a sound DJ." Bat takes this in stride and sits back on his chair, making it rock.

"Let's get to the next. Jem, Tessa. You know something? I've always found it weird that I had to call Aunt Izzy and Uncle Si and Aunt Clary and Uncle Jace and- oh, you get the general idea- as aunt or uncle and I didn't have to call Jem and Tessa. Like, they are almost one fifty years older than them, and I can address them by name? How cool is that? So yes, about Jem and Tessa. Jem, for being the best violinist I ever knew, and also agreeing to teach me the violin, though when I played, the poor Stradivarius spent its time in agony, churning out notes which it probably wouldn't have dreamed it was capable of churning out. Tessa, for having an absolutely swoon worthy library I adore, and for also having an amazing baby and an even more amazing attitude." Tessa sits straight, tears rolling down proudly. Jem, faintly smiling. "Min-Min. Best baby ever, who'll steal boys' hearts like a pro. You're going to be an absolute heartbreaker, my dear. And Kit. My sweet, blond bodyguard, over whom half of the UK swoon over. Also to his dark haired wonder boyfriend, our own resident genius, Ty Blackthorn. I can still totally fight you over Sherlock Holmes, my boy. And for the record, old Holmes does say elementary. In some short story. Don't ask me what. I'm trying not to think about my own death, which is hard, because I'm recording a tape just for that macabre occasion, when the world can no longer boast of me being her resident. Ah, the pity!" She sounds dramatic and vain and vapid and all things she pretended she was. But I know better. I've seen under the veneer.

Kit and Ty look mystified, bouncing Mina between them. And then, they break into identical smiles.

"But there's something to it, don't you think, in dying when you know you're going to die? Like my Uncle Jace says, you go out, you've got to go out with a bang. Make a mark. A difference. So how many have I finished now? Ach, Lieber Gott, only two?" She sounds exasperated.

And suddenly, just like that, it's too much for me, hearing her exasperation, remembering, Dad, isn't the goddamn tee ready yet? The way she blew her hair out of her face, puffing out her cheeks angrily when Magnus took too much time to dress, For the Angel's sake, Papa, honestly. Behave like you are four hundred years old. How she'd laugh when Max wore the sailor suit of punishment, and pick Rafe up by his ankles and swing him around.

I have to do something. I have to get away from her voice, her laughing, merry tone, her macabre fascination at her own cleverness, in which she's managed to get the attention she so craved when she lived.

Attention was like oxygen to Andriette. She couldn't get enough of it. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she had to be the centre of attention. She managed to make eyes snap to her, make sure that all of the attention, the thought spirals, they were all about her. She was the trembler of kneecaps, the spiller of teacups.

I get up, under the ruse of making coffee for everyone in the living room. It's too stuffy, anyway, with all the people.

Even the kitchen reminds me of Ettie, though I couldn't tell why. It wasn't like she adored cooking. But I can still see her through the corner of my eyes, long blond hair pushed away impatiently, (she was impatient with everything, everyone, including her own hair), me gently scolding her to tie her hair, or it would get into the food, her lopsidedly grinning at me, revealing the rice grain gap between her teeth, those accursed boots hitting the table (always tracking mud), thoughtfully chewing something or the other.

Getting coffee isn't much of a chore. She never did like coffee. It's too overrated, she would say, tossing her head back. Everyone talks about morning breath. What about coffee breath? What about tea breath?

Now that everyone has a cup, (they've paused the tapes, waiting for me, how extraordinarily noble of them) Magnus hits the play button again.

"Is it getting boring? Am I getting boring? I hope not. That would be such a disappointment. Okay. Cristina, Emma , Julian, Mark and the fey guy whose name I cannot be bothered with. Kitten? No, it's not. It's something else. Drusilla, Octavian. Cristina, sweetest person I've met, hats off. How do you keep such an admirable temper? Emma, we are the blond movement. Julian, you draw almost, almost, as well as my Aunt Clary. Mark, you told me I had to get my energy the old fashioned way, through drugs. Were you serious? Had you planned to get me into more trouble? Betrayer. They should've named you Brutus. Fey guy whose name I cannot remember, Mr Kitten, sir, you may be the high and mighty king of the -which is it? Seelie? Unseelie? Underworld? Hades? Whatever. Right, so you may be the king, but do not be a Hitler. I hope you get the reference. And yes! You're Keyon, aren't you?" She's delighted with herself, at finally managing to scramble through her memory and find the right one.

Etta's always been horrible with names. Whenever she yells someone she doesn't remember their names, most people think she's acting. The truth was, she managed to mess up the most rudimentary names, like Tim and Jim. Why do people name them such short, unflattering names?

"Alright! Next up, Lily the wonderful. Lily the marvellous. Lily the jazz baby. Aunt Lily, the coolest aunt anyone could ask for. Aunt Lily, can you kick Elliott's butt for me? He proposed again. Tell him neither me, not my betrothed is interested in indulging in a threesome. Oh, Aunt Lily's story. I was already sort of grown by the time I reached New York, you know. Twelve years old- or was it thirteen? I have a terrible memory. I'd run away from Germany. You know, I think I spent most of my time running away. So yeah, I'd run away from the greatest moron on planet earth, aka my father, Felix Greenfield. I was in the Institute, Aunt Clary and Uncle Jace, winging it, when Aunt Lily came up charging and then she was like, Jason cannot be allowed to bring up a twelve year old runaway."

She's quiet for some time, lost in the memory.

I can remember myself, Lily charging up our apartment, demanding to see me and Magnus. She had stopped me with an arm out (I was on my way to purchase some groceries), and demanded in a loud voice, "Do you think you can be bothered to look after a twelve year old German import towhead?"

I was frankly stunned then. I thought Lily wanted to look after a child and I was child minding. Then I realized what she really wanted: She wanted me to adopt the kid behind her.

I got a good look at her. Ettie. She was a tall kid, blond hair cut off at her chin as if with a chainsaw (had she been using a pair of rusty scissors in the dark for cutting her hair?), an oddly catlike face, sharp chin and cheekbones, green eyes darting back and forth between me and Lily.

"Let her in, Alec." Magnus had said quietly behind me, his eyes on her. "Magnus, you can't be serious?" "I am, Alec. She's a small child. She's got nowhere to go-" "I have." The child had said, eyes suddenly blazing, pushing Lily away. "You can't say that. Just because I ran away from home doesn't mean that I have nowhere to go. I can go to the Institute. I don't need anyone's help." She had said angrily, looking liable to run away any moment.

"I didn't mean that." Magnus had grinned. "I meant that you have nowhere to go now. As in, do you know your way around New York? So you'll stay with us." "Any Shadowhunter can seek refuge at the Institute-" "Yes, but you can stay now with us. This is Alec Lightwood, whom you may know, and I'm Magnus B-"

"You're a _warlock_." She and breathed in horror, moving back. Oh god, not another kid brought up with bigots, I had thought. For the first time, Lily's smile faltered.

"You can do magic. Like Harry Potter." She had looked absolutely fascinated. I felt the tension in the air drop in a split second. The girl hadn't breathed in horror, she was amazed by Magnus.

"Harry Potter?" Magnus had laughed. "I'm much better than Harry Potter, my dear. I'm like Albus Dumbledore."

And that's how Andriette Irmgard Greenfield became Andriette Irmgard Lightwood Bane.

I realized, with a start, that the stereo had gone silent. "What happened?" I asked, suddenly panicking. "Why has it stopped?" "Tape 2 is over." Magnus said quietly, rubbing his eyes. "You're the one who was so eager to hear this. The least you can do is to pay attention." Magnus says sharply, standing up.

I blink, trying to figure out what happened.

_It's the first time Magnus has ever been so harsh to me._

* * *

Tape 3 is labelled with acid green nail polish.

I can't remember from where she would've gotten that horrible colour. Now that two tapes are over, everyone in the living room is much... calmer. They're no longer jumpy, prone to flinching when someone addresses them.

Clary goes out for a few minutes, to feed Andriette. Jace and Simon take the boys out for lunch, and Magnus gets some takeout for the others. I decline. I don't think I can eat anything. I'm more likely to puke it all out.

Helen and Aline leave. They say they can't stay, hear her voice like this, without thinking about her funeral. Which is a lie. They can't bear to see their son, their Ricky like this, his toying with the band of silver on his finger, the only movement he shows.

My betrothed. That's what she called him. They were only seventeen- she was sixteen, really- and they'd run off to some place and come back, grinning widely and claiming they'd got engaged. Hitched.

I sometimes think, that we let her go too much. Too much of freedom, a loose grip over her. We weren't really parents to her- just a bunch of adults who provided her with a home and food.

Tape 3 starts with a whizzing and hissing sound. "Sorry folks. I mean, I'm absolutely clueless about this thing. Some sort of technical error. Right. Now it's fine. So, who else? My future mothers in law. Aline and Helen Penhallow. Aline, for letting me date her son, goodness knows we'd do it whether we had permission or not, and Helen for that amazing hot chocolate you make. Like, I came over to your place just to have the hot chocolate, you know that? That's how I met Rick. Next up, alright I've been putting this off. The inner circle. My family."

The implication is clear. It's our turn.

"I'll start off with Gran. Gran, super sorry about the whole dying thing. Well, I'm sorry because I won't get to have your mushroom ravioli anymore, and good luck with Kadir. I'll just say, like when I came? I had such an enthusiastic welcome. Gran was so proud, she was like, thank the Angel Alec and Magnus decided to give me a granddaughter!" She laughs for a bit, and I turn to look at my mother, sitting in her wheelchair, hands folded over the blanket covering her legs, courtesy of a demon attack years ago. She isn't crying, just looking very intently at the stereo as if she could burn holes into it.

"Uncle Si. Aunt Izzy. Thank you so much for being the coolest and funniest Aunt and Uncle pair ever. Like, give a kiss from me to Yossarian II, will you? Thanks. I remember, when I ran off? I was a literal, actual mess. My father- the German one, was here to get me home. As in, home as the one I had with him. Back in Germany. So he'd come here, all ready to blast the nukes on me, and Aunt Izzy chased him off with that spatula." She's quiet for some time. "I always admired that spatula."

Izzy's laughing, her hands wrapped tight around Simon, who lets his fingers trail over her hair.

"Uncle Si. Oh, my poor Uncle Si. He who dared to teach me archery, to end up in the emergency room due to the lack of steles in the house." "The steles which you broke." Simon muttered. "My dad had tried to teach me the same, just to end up a mess. He was almost hysterical." She sounds pleased.

"Uncle Jace. The Shadowhunter of Shadowhunters. The Great Blond Massacre. The Mallard Fearing Fear of Demons. The Excessively Annoying Majesty of the Line of We-Don't-Know-Who-We-Are Herondales. Thank you so much for helping me refine my technique with a sword, and training me so that I've become the highest entity when it comes to the Morgenstern! The morning star! My signature weapon! And also, I hope the baby is a girl. So that you can name her after me. The child is sure to have an illustrious life!" Jace chokes on a laugh.

"Aunt Clary. Or, as I was asked to call you, Aunt Biscuit. My vivid, Titian haired, midget sized Aunt, who's tried to teach me to paint. I can paint horizons! And also backgrounds! But nothing vaguely alive, thanks very much. And what else? Aunt Clary has given me a piece of advice. Heroes aren't always the ones who win. They lose sometimes, too. But they keep coming back. That's what makes them heroes. But I'm going to say you're wrong, Aunt Clary. Heroes don't come back. Demons keep coming back, wave after wave, and the heroes die off with only their families to remember and then-then what? The demons come back, more Shadowhunters die, we die. And that's it. That's it. We die. Nothing more happens."

She sounds exhausted. So very exhausted. I remember, one of her friends from the academy had died, a few years ago, a demon attack gone horribly wrong.

"I'm going really morbid, aren't I? Dad? Don't you think so? I just want to tell you and Papa, that-"

I stiffen. It's my turn.

"I want to tell you that I am sorry. Max, Rafe, Rick. Rafe, be a good boy, okay? Eat. Train. Be a better Shadowhunter than I ever was. More correctly, be a better human being than I was. Max, baby, I'm sorry I didn't get to take you to all the places I wanted to show you. Rick- Rick, you know what I want to tell you, don't you? There's no one I love the way I love you. All of you. Everyone who's hearing this. I am very sorry. Very, very, sorry. I didn't mean to die. You might think contrarily, why else would I record this? Because all of us- all of Ellie's friends- we never got to hear her again. Never got her to speak to us. We didn't even get to say goodbye. So I was like, that will not be the case with me. I will make sure everyone hears what I want to say, you will hear what I say. This is goodbye. My parents will never lament the fact that they never heard my voice again. This is what I want to say." Click. It's over.

There's a thundering finality to her voice. I can see Magnus' hands on his face, Rafe nodding as if she was right in front of him, Max already asleep. I see the others' tears trickling down their cheeks. But I can't cry. I will not cry. Not for my child. I will make sure no other person has to go through what I-and so many other parents- Shadowhunter or not- had gone through. No other parent should lament the fact that their child was taken from them before they saw their eighteenth birthday.

I would make sure no parent would give up their child before their time. No Shadowhunter child would be fighting demons before eighteen. This would be for my daughter.


End file.
